Both Sides Now
by Equestrienne Dreams
Summary: Two 500-word ficlets, exploring two of the different sides of Lynley and Havers' physical relationship. Chapter 1 is raw passion; Chapter 2 is gently tender. Do enjoy.
1. The World Will Follow After

He has her against the wall as soon as they get through the door.

Her back hits solid wood with a resounding thump, but before she can even begin to care, her shirt's in shreds on the floor, her jeans are down around her knees and his hand has done some sort of miraculous vanishing act with her knickers before stroking fast and hard in the slippery folds between her legs.

She _screams,_ a sharp, keening cry that shoots straight to his groin.

Then barely has enough breath to scream again before he goes there again _faster_ and _harder_ and her knees buckle and nearly hit the floor.

They shouldn't have done that, she thinks distantly, because the only thing holding her up now is his hand between her legs and oh _god_, is it possible to survive pleasure so sharp it's ecstatic agony shearing through her body?

She screams and screams again as the orgasm simply tears her apart.

And has barely begun to sob when he hoists her off the floor and pins her against the wall with his hips.

He can _feel_ her grinding herself shamelessly against him, desperate for any friction she can find.

But when he lifts his head to see her face, he is the one in very real danger of sinking to his knees. Because somehow her face is dead center of a beam of sunlight, and the radiant light sets her eyes and hair afire and turns her skin into living candlelight. She has her head thrown back against the wall – baring her throat and breasts to his seeking mouth – and her chest is heaving, mouth slack as she fights to breathe through the conflagration rocketing between every nerve in her body. To see her golden and flushed, eyes glowing, tears streaming down her cheeks as she surrenders immediately and unconditionally to the wildfires of her own overwhelming passion – to see the unbridled ecstasy written in every curve and line of her face –

He nearly comes right there.

Convulsively he crushes her against the wall, grinds himself against her and muffles her own hoarse sob with his mouth on hers.

Somehow – neither of them know – their clothes end up in pieces on the floor.

And then he's inside her.

"Wanted you like this all day," he rasps in her ear. "Wanted you when you gave the orders like you were born for it, couldn't live without you when you dressed down the idiot constable with a smart mouth – you were so eloquent, so beautiful, so imperious. Can't believe I'm yours. Can't believe you're mine. Can't believe I have you."

She mewls helplessly, language lost in the ether along with thought and breathing.

And then she convulses around him, coming apart in his arms.

He nearly blacks out at the white-hot firestorm of pleasure that utterly consumes him, that burns him alive, and then, miraculously, brings him back to life.

Panting and flushed and radiant, she smiles.

And the world starts turning again.


	2. In The Still of the Night

He woke in the still of the night, when the stars glittered like jewels in the sky and the wind whispered through the trees of nearby Hyde Park.

Unusually, his wife was sleeping not with her head on his chest, as was the norm, but with her back to his front, her knees drawn up to her chest, while her hand held his against her breast.

As she let out a soft sigh and pressed back against him, he followed his instincts and gently removed his hand from hers, smoothing a few strands of hair back from her face before he allowed that hand to smooth its way down her arm, along her side, and finally over the sweet, smooth curve of her bare bottom.

Unconsciously she wriggled against his touch, and as she did so his hand slipped forward, where she was open and wet even in sleep. He could hear her soft moan of pleasure at the gentle brush of his fingers.

He stroked her there, feeling her, enjoying the way her hips shifted minutely, restlessly, against his hand while she continued to sleep in his arms.

He became aware, suddenly and painfully, that he was on fire for her.

Not stopping to think, not stopping for anything at all, he entered her in a single stroke.

_Oh._

With her knees drawn up like they were, she was tighter than ever, and it was a long, anxious minute before he could reclaim some sense of control. Achingly, he brushed her cheek with his hand before he pulled her closer and buried his face in her shoulder.

She simply sighed, a whisper of contentment, and arched back a little against him.

She still had not awakened.

For this, he eschewed strong thrusts – he wanted to move as little as possible, merely wanted to remain in this perfect union with her and revel in the peace she alone gave him, and gave so freely. Instead he merely rocked a little, in and then out, a slow, rhythmic pulse – the barest of movements – that had him closing his eyes in self-defence. She followed his rhythm without thought, without consciousness – they were that close. She could follow him, would follow him, even in sleep.

"Ah, Barbara."

As always, her name said everything.

He continued to rock with her, so tenderly, as the pleasure spiralled higher and higher, as the slow burn began low and hot in his belly before spreading in a flush across his skin. Barbara was whimpering in her sleep now, the slow, deep waves washing over her as she ever so slowly began to waken, began to respond with more than just pure instinct.

He felt her as she crested the last gentle rise – felt the quiver of deep, strong, sweet contractions around him, felt her sensual shudder and sigh as the orgasm bathed her in liquid warmth and light.

When he found release mere seconds later, it poured over him like cool rain.

Still joined together, they slept.


End file.
